


Things Don't Always Work Out

by hatwall



Series: President Schlatt [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Coffee, Cuddling & Snuggling, DadSchlatt, Duck Hybrid Alexis | Quackity, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Fox Hybrid Floris | Fundy, Good Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Hybrid Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Internal Conflict, Jschlatt Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Overdosing, Overworking, Parent Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Alexis | Quackity, Protective Fundy, Protective Toby Smith | Tubbo, Protectiveness, Ram hybrid Schlatt, Serious Injuries, Shock, Toby Smith | Tubbo Has Horns, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Withdrawal, internal injuries, the medical term
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:21:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29092683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatwall/pseuds/hatwall
Summary: Quitting alcohol is easy right? Should be. At least that's what Schlatt tells himself as he tried to quit the life long addiction before it gets worse again. And to do that, he replaces one addiction with another. No longer reaching for alcohol but instead for coffee. The only thing keeping him awake on weeks where he can only get two hours of sleep because of this damn presidency.A cup too many leaves him helpless in the arms of his son Tubbo.This is strictly about the character and not about the actual content creators. If this crosses any of their boundaries, it will be immediately taken down. Respect people's boundaries.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: President Schlatt [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2130036
Comments: 16
Kudos: 244





	Things Don't Always Work Out

**Author's Note:**

> There were mild amounts of research that went into this because I'm extra.

The day had started out fine. Completely normal and fine. Waking up from yet another night of two hours of sleep, Schlatt shook the exhaustion from his bones with the cold cup of black coffee that still sat near the coach that was in his office. Not a welcome addition to his office, as most of his cabinet deemed it, but it was easier to just sleep there than to make the whole walk to his room. Besides, under comfortable covers, with his head actually on a pillow made it so much harder to get up and get to work than it took to just roll off of a lumpy couch and right to his desk.

It had been a few days since Tubbo had come to him with nightmares, and since then things had been getting better. He was no longer trying to keep his distance, and even glanced up at him a few times. It was slow, but he was starting to forgive Schlatt, and the ram hybrid could not be happier. It was slow progress sure, but it was progress nonetheless and that was all he could hope for. 

Forcing himself up, and at it, ignoring the shake that his legs gave as soon as he got up, making his way to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. It was very early, 5 am, so no one was going to be up to tell him that it was too early for another cup.

He lived on coffee now, basically, the only thing keeping him away and fighting off sleep. Was it bad? Sure. Did his cabinet consistently remind him that it was unhealthy? Yes. Did Tubbo always tell him that he needed to get more sleep, with a concerned look in his eye that made Schlatt’s heartbreak? Yes. Did he make a promise that he would try to do better? Yes. Did he actually ever do better? No.

Ignoring the shaking in his hands, Schlatt carried the cup back to his office. He had wanted to get a coffee maker for his office, but that had been quickly turned down by everyone he worked with. A unanimous “no,” across the board as he said it. Fundy said he would never leave the room then. Quackity said he would drink too much. Tubbo said that he would overwork himself.

So he had to make the trek.

He forwent the whiskey this time. He was starting to lose control over how much alcohol he was drinking. Again. He was always at least a little drunk, a habit he had developed a long time ago. It had gotten better. And then he became president. And it started to get worse again. So he decided that it was time to just go cold turkey and get the addiction over with. Today was day one, and the pounding headache that was starting to settle into his brain was not very welcoming.

Whatever. There was still work to be done. There were still things that needed to be done, and he was president, and god damn it, he would do his best to make sure that this was the best country he could make it.

The hours dragged by. He let his mind wander tiredly as he sighed forms, reviewed others, and made five other trips to the kitchen to get more coffee, eventually having to brew a whole new pot once the first was gone. The headache was starting to get worse, surprising as it had been bad before, and he could feel his hands starting to shake. An anxious feeling welled up in his chest as he waited for the pot to be done. Glances to where he knew the alcohol was.

No. He didn’t need it. He didn’t. He could go a day without it. That was fine. He didn’t need it.

The coffee maker made a _ding_ and the ram was fast to pour the cup and leave before the creeping voice of addiction could pull him back. He needed to bury himself. That way he could forget about the liquor bottles, and his absolute dependency on them. He did not want to snap at anyone. Did not want to deal with anyone. He just wanted to get through today, do the meetings, do paperwork, and drink coffee. That was it. That was all he needed to do.

More hours dragged on. His ears perked up at the groggy sounds of Tubbo shuffling down the hallway. He glanced at the clock on his desk. Ten in the morning. Understandable, his son had been up late doing paperwork, and he had never been one to push his son to do more work than he needed to. He still needed to be a kid.

He smiled to himself, really just proud that his son was doing some kind of work, before taking a sip.

Nothing.

An empty cup once again.

That was fine, he wanted to see Tubbo anyway, and going to the kitchen to get more coffee was the perfect way to do that.

Walking into the kitchen, Tubbo munched on a bowl of cereal standing up, eyes half-closed as he tried to wake up at least a little bit more. His ram ears perked up when Schlatt entered the room though, looking over to his father, before his shoulders relaxed a bit, giving a nod of acknowledgment before returning to his cereal.

Schlatt raised a hand in greeting before going to the coffee maker, pouring another cup.

“Sleep well?” he asked, turning to face his son, and taking a sip, letting the earthly taste overtake his tongue. He did not need alcohol. It could stay in that cupboard all day and he would not need it. Because it was unnecessary. He did not need it. He didn’t.

“Yeah,” Tubbo said. Schlatt was ready for that to be the end of the conversation before he added, “had a dream that I was fighting a giant hamster while riding a bee.”

Schlatt hummed like it was the most interesting thing he had heard.

“Did you win?”

“I think so. I woke up before I could deal the final blow but things were not looking good for that hamster.”

“Probably deserved it.”

Tubbo giggled.

He laughed. At a joke Schlatt made.

Pride swelled in his chest as he took another sip.

“Don’t you have a meeting at ten-thirty?” Tubbo asked, mouth full of cereal.

Oh shit.

He did.

The ram bolted into action, scrambling to get into clothes that were not wrinkled, smooth out his hair, dividing it so he showed off his horns, down the rest of his coffee, grab all of his files and papers, and making sure that he had everything, getting another cup of coffee to go, before rushing out of the door.

As he ran through the streets of Manburg, dodging around houses and civilians that lived there, he could feel the tiredness starting to set in, as soon as he forced his body to do things that were not sitting and doing paperwork. Sliding into the portal that took him to the main server, that one that allowed people to branch off to other servers, and to the communal government building that was in it. He was completely out of breath by the time he slid to a stop in front of the building, Quackity waiting there, tapping his foot with impatience.

“You’re late,” he said, following Schlatt as he rushed past the duck hybrid.

“Yes, yes, I know, I’m sorry, it slipped my mind, let’s just get this over with.”

If Schlatt noticed the concerned look that his vice gave him as they made their way to the conference room, he did not notice. Nor did not he mention it as they went over last-minute plans making their way to the meeting.

It was long. And boring. And Schlatt ran out of coffee halfway through. That was fine. He could just get more when he made it back to the Dream SMP.

But as the meeting dragged on, his mind started to wonder. Wonder to the bar that he knew was not too far away. Wonder to the bottles of liquor he knew were in his cabinet back at the White House. That dark part of his mind started to whisper, his adversary blurring into the background. He needed it. It would make him feel so good. It would make him feel alive. He could just relax for the first time in weeks. He had been working so hard, he deserved a drink, at the very least. And besides, what would one drink do?

“Well, thank you for your time President Schlatt,” the man he was having the meeting with said, getting up and buttoning his blazer shut. What was his name again? Why were they here again? 

“Not a problem,” Schlatt said out of instinct, following the man, and shaking his hand, ignoring the way that he tensed as soon as they made contact. He was used to it. It was not like hybrids were the most liked creatures in the world.

They exited the room, the man and his vice following close behind, while Schlatt and Quackity stayed in the room for a little while longer.

“Well, he was stuffy as fuck,” the duck hybrid said, shoving some papers into his backpack. “It was a bad deal anyway, he was completely screwing us over. Does he really think that we are that dumb?”

“It’s probably because we are hybrids,” Schlatt said, lacing his fingers together, resting his elbows to the table, and putting his forehead on his hands. He was so, so fucking tired. He needed more coffee. Before that dark part of his mind got any more enticing.

“Racist bitch.”

Schlatt chuckled a little, before moving to stand up. His vision swam immediately as he did. He was used to this. Just a side effect of sleep deprivation. But this was different. This was worse. His entire brain felt like it had been shifted to one side of his skull, taking his whole body with him. Desperately, he grabbed onto the back of his chair before he had a chance to fall. Bright colors danced in his vision as he tried to bring himself back to reality. Someone was talking. He was sure of it. It just sounded like he was underwater. It felt like he was underwater, from the increasing pressure he got on his head. Had his headache really gotten that much worse?

He came back, feeling the wrinkles in his suit, his feet in shoes, his hands on a chair, and a hand on his back. Blinking a few more times, Schlatt tuned into the person talking.

“--re you ok? Schlatt talk to me?”

It was Quackity. He sounded scared. He sounded….worried. No. No one should be worried about him. He was fine, really. Everything was fine.

“I’m fine, Quackity,” Schlatt said, brushing the hand off and started to shove papers into his own folder. God, why were his hands shaking so much? He needed coffee as soon as possible.

“Dude, what the fuck was that?” his voice said, scrambling to follow him out of the conference room they had reserved, into the main hall of the justice house. It was a large hallway, with red carpet on the ground, and large windows in front of them. Almost everything was white with ostentatious golden chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. They were not far from the exit, thank god, and Schlatt started to make a beeline for it. Quackity close behind.

“It’s fine,” Schlatt said, trying to keep his hand from running down his face. “I just really want to get back to the White House. And get some coffee.”

There was a beat of silence as the duck hybrid got into step with the ram hybrid. They opened the swinging wooden doors of the justice house, and down the wide-sweeping steps of the building. He immediately spotted a coffee cart next to the building, and started to make his way over, avoiding people as he went.

“Are you sure you should be having more coffee?” Why did he sound so concerned? Schlatt was fine. He was starting to get irritated

“Yes, Quackity,” he said blandly, a harsh tone to his voice. Taking the cups, and handing one to his vice. Really it was more sugar than coffee, but Schlatt needed his black. “There’s still a lot that I need to get done.”

“Sure you can’t just take a break?” they showed their passes and entered the portal to the Dream SMP, letting the cold wash over them, as they appeared in the middle of Manburg. “I’m sure that Tubbo would love to spend some time with you.”

“He just started talking to me again, I don’t want to push my luck by spending the whole day with him. Besides, there is stuff to get done.”

Another beat of silence. This one was heavier.

“Have you drank anything today?”

Schlatt sighed. It was a valid question. He did not have a bad habit of doing that. His chest filled with disappointment. Not at Quackity for asking the question, or even for assuming that he might have broken his promise once again. No, it was at himself, for creating that distrust in the first place. He should have done better. For his vice president. For Manburg. For Tubbo.

“No, I have not drank anything today, “ he took the last sip of his coffee. It had not even been twenty minutes and it was already gone, and he craved another one.

“That’s something to be proud of man!” Quackity said, giving his shoulder a hearty clap. They had just gotten to the bottom of the hill that the White House stood on. Schlatt’s legs shook at the fact that he had to climb them, but it was not like he had another choice. Part of him would rather die than to be carried by someone. Another part was so very tired. And another still started to echo the promising sweet words of alcohol. God, he needed to shut that voice up. “Let’s have dinner.”

“Quackity, I really don’t….”

“Nothing big. It does not have to have the whole of Manburg. Just something small. You, me, Tubbo, and Fundy, if he wants to come. I’ll cook. Your place, you have the best kitchen.”

It sounded….nice. Especially after the weeks he had been having. Most of the time he forgot to eat until his stomach started to audibly growl at him. And a home-cooked meal sounded amazing, with the rest of his cabinet to mediate the awkwardness between him and Tubbo. It was much too nice to pass up.

“Alright,” he said, opening the door of the White House, “how about a few hours from now? I still have to finish up some stuff, but I will be there.”

“I’ll run home and get a cookbook! Don’t go anywhere.” And with that, the duck hybrid had taken off down the road, his backpack bounding against his small wings as he went, a little more pep in his step. Oh well. If it made Quackity happy, then Schlatt guessed he could take a few hours off. It would be nice to forget about work for a while, and this seemed like as good of an option as any.

He stopped by the kitchen on the way to his office, getting another cup of coffee, before going to his office.

That was when things started to go wrong.

About halfway there, his vision swam again. Like before, his whole brain was pushed to the side, and his body went with it, slamming a shoulder into the nearby wall. He did not realize how hard he was breathing until then, as his lungs burned under his ribs, heart starting to pick up.

With uneven steps, Schlatt started to make his way to his office, using the wall to support himself all the way, until he was able to collapse into his office chair.

He felt hot.

Off went the tie and blazer. Everything still felt so hot. And he was breathing so fast. His brain started to cloud with air, barely able to process one gulp before his lungs took in another.

It started to hurt. Like the headache that had persisted all day, but was not getting the recognition that it deserved. It hurt.

A lot.

It felt like his chest was going to burst, and his head was going to start leaking out his brain, it was so full. A vague idea of a thought fluttered across his mind:

What the fuck is happening?

His hands gripped the arms of his chair as he heard someone walk into his office. Everything sounded so far away. He hurt his head to even try to listen but it was not like he had much of a choice.

“Dad,” it was Tubbo. Oh god, it was Tubbo. No nononono. He did not want his son to see him like this. “Are you ok?”

Schlatt opened his mouth to answer. And immediately snapped it shut when he felt his stomach flip on itself. It hurt so fucking bad. Like someone had grabbed his organs and twisted as hard as they could, wrapping them all around each other. He pressed his hands against his mouth, trying to prevent himself from throwing up. God, he hated throwing up so much. And he did not want to do that in front of his son.

Tears started to form on the corners of his eyes as his stomach spasmed again, trying to force him to throw up. He swallows. Hard. Shuttering as it goes down.

His skin feels cold and clammy, and his breathing was still harsh and fast. He wanted to be left alone. Just deal with this on his own, while he tried to compose himself before Quackity showed up.

The soft padding of soaked feet getting closer made him almost want to cry. He did not want his son to see him like this.

“Dad?”

Schlatt slowly moved his hands away from his mouth. He needed to respond. Tubbo would keep coming closer, and he did not want him to see his father like this!

“Tubbo,” was that really his voice? Why did he sound so….weak? Why was this happening? “I-I’m, oh god….”

His stomach rolled again, sending painful shocks through the rest of his body. His brain felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and his breathing. God, his breathing. His chest ached with how fast he was breathing. He wheezed with every intake, unable to stop. He needed to stop!

He rolled out of the chair, and onto the floor, catching himself on his hands and knees. Someone was talking to him. He had no idea what they were saying. All he knew was that he was in so much pain at the moment.

His insides rebelled again, and this time, there was nothing he could do, as he gripped the floorboards helplessly as his body retched painfully. Tears streamed down his face, as his stomach purged itself of everything he had consumed in the last twelve hours. It wretched his poor brain, shaking it, rattling it against his skull. There was an intense pressure against his eyes, making his head throb with pain.

There was a hand on his back.

There was someone shouting at him.

There was someone talking.

They might have been the same person, but he was not sure.

They sounded terrified.

His arms shook under his weight. Before they gave out. Arms barely caught him, pulling him to the side. His head rested on someone’s chest, holding him close while they cried, their chest shaking with sobs as he was held in their arms.

His mouth hung open as his brain slowed down. He wanted to sleep. His breathing had stopped being so intense. It was slowing down. Down. Down.

Darkness.

Silence.

Rest.

A shock of pain wracked his chest as his ribs were cracked, and air was forced back into his lungs. He took a big gasping breath, filling his lungs before coughing. Someone turned him onto his side, rubbing his back as he coughed, tears falling down his face.

“He’s breathing! Quackity, find me a blanket!”

He was alive. He was coughing.

His body retched again.

Someone grabbed around his chest, lifting him up as stomach acid escaped his mouth, and splashed onto the floor under him. God he hurt. His head hurt so fucking much.  
He spit a little bit of the vomit out of his mouth before he was set back down on the ground. Someone placed a blanket around his shivered shoulders. That’s what he realized his shirt was gone. That was when he realized that his legs were elevated above the rest of his body. That was when he realized the hysterical sobbing of someone in the room.

Schlatt opened his dry mouth. He was trying to say something. No words were able to form. Nothing but a painful whimper, before he curled deeper into the blanket, trying to latch onto whatever warmth he could get.

“Schlatt, can you hear me?”

That sounded like Fundy. There was a hand rubbing his back with methodical motions, claws lightly dragging across his skin.

He gave a weak nod. What else could he do? All of the energy he once had was gone. Exhaustion was so deep in his bones, he wanted to fall into the darkness right there and then. His heavy eyelids started to close.

Someone pinched the back of his neck.

He whined in protest.

“I’m sorry, but you need to stay awake, Schlatt. Just a little longer, then you can sleep I promise.”

His head felt so heavy. Everything felt so heavy. He felt so empty. Not just his empty stomach, but an empty head, chest. Like his entire body had been gutted of organs and bones, replaced with concrete.

Someone pinched him again.

“Stay awake Schlatt!”

He was trying. He really was. But it was so hard. He needed coffee. He needed….alcohol. It had been so long since he had a drink, it would feel so good, warming him up, taking away the dry feeling in his throat. He would feel good again.

Pinch.

This one was a lot harder than the other ones.

“Schlatt!” Fundy sounded so angry. And so concerned. He did not know the reason for either emotion, he could barely see at the moment, relying on his ram ears and touch to pick up on everything around him. “Stay awake! You need to stay awake! We don’t know if you are out of shock yet, and we need to make sure before you go to sleep. So please, for everything right and good, stay awake.”

He had been in shock? No that did not sound right. He had been….shit, what had he been doing? Something with….paper. Coffee? Tubbo! His son had been there.

Where was his son?

“T--” his mouth was just so dry, and his tongue so heavy. But he needed to know. “Tu-Tubbo.”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s alright. He’s the one who called us. And it’s a good thing. A moment later, and you would….would….come on Schlatt stay awake. I’m almost done, and we’ll move you to a bed, and you can get some sleep, just please stay awake.”

Schlatt felt his heart break at how desperate Fundy sounded. He never wanted any of this. He did not want people to worry about him. He wanted to be ok, and work, to make a better place for them. Schlatt did not want them to worry about him. And yet here they were. Begging him to stay awake. Like it would be the end of the world if he fell asleep.

“Ok…..ok, you’re ok,” Fundy breathed, taking his hands off of him. Schlatt immediately missed the heat. “He’ll be ok for now. Quackity, help me get him to his bed.”

Hands slipped under his shoulders, while another grabbed onto his knees. His head lulled forward, resting on his chest, as he limply tried to help, trying to move his useless limbs.

“Shhh, it's ok Schlatt. Don’t move, we got you.” that was a new voice. It sounded like Quackity but different. Thicker? Like he had been crying.

Schlatt went limp, letting the two men lift him off of the ground. His eyes fluttered closed, plunging him into darkness every once in a while, before he was jerked back to reality. His chest hurt. His ribs felt like they were grinding against each other with each movement, pulling a whimper from him each time. A whisper of apologies followed each noise he made.

He was lifted up and lowered onto the softest thing he had ever laid on. He would have curled up if moving to his side did not immediately hurt his ribs, not to mention the fact that he could not sleep on his side because of his horns. Laying there, something was pulled up to his chin, tucking him in. He sighed with content.

There was a bit of murmuring in the room. Words that he was too tired to decipher. Before there was a dip in the bed, a scramble, before something lifted his arm, snuggling in close under it, getting close to his shirtless chest, and putting his head gently on his shoulder. Schlatt pulled the person in closer, an odd comfort around the small body that was not pressed close to him.

A few shivers wracked through the small person next to him. Schlatt gave him a weak squeeze. He wished he could do more. But he was just so tired. He could do more when he woke up. For now, he let his eyes close, and the darkness took him.

***

It was slow, coming out of a deep sleep. First, he became aware that he was sleeping, and the darkness around him. Then came the desire to just keep sleeping. Squeezing his eyes tighter, he became aware of his body, how it felt. Sore. Jittery. Still completely exhausted. Then he became aware of the things around his body. The body snuggled up close to him, resting a head on his shoulder, with two arms wrapped around his torso. The heavy blankets that covered the two of them, tucked tightly around him. The soft pillow under his head, cradling his horns on either side. Then the noises around him. The soft breathing of the person next to him, but the soft _clacking_ of typing and the scratch of pen against paper.

Then he opened his eyes.

He was in his room. It was day, as there was still a little bit of light coming into the room through drawn curtains. Quackity and Fundy sat across the room. The duck hybrid had papers in his hands, eyes dancing across them, occasionally making notes, while the fox hybrid had a computer on his lap, typing away.

The soft brown hair of Tubbo he could see out of his peripheral, turning his head a little to see his son. Fully clothed, snuggling up close to him, holding onto him like he could lose his father at any point. His eyes were open, but glassy, with a far off stare. He was thinking about something else.

Reaching a weak hand up, Schlatt pet the top of his son's head. His head immediately shot up, looking his dad in the eyes. Disbelief hung in those large blue eyes. Before his lips quivered and he threw his arms around Schlatt’s neck, burying his face into the crook of his neck.

“You’re awake, you’re ok, I’m so sorry,” Tubbo whispered in between sobs, tears soaking into Schlatt’s shin.

“Whoa there kid,” he said, rubbing Tubbo’s head. His voice was thick with sleep but also cooked with soreness.

Quackity and Fundy shot up in a second and were at his bedside in a moment. Schlatt did not like the worried look in their eyes. He was about to ask before Quaicktiy butted in with his own explanation.

“You fucking idiot!” he yelled, stomping a foot on the ground for emphasis “you could have died. You also did die! What would we have done then? What would have Tubbo done?”

“Quackity,” Fundy placed a hand on the hybrid's shoulder, tears already collecting in Quackity’s eyes, “not right now.”

“What happened?” Schlatt asked, not taking his hand off of Tubbo’s head.

“You overdosed on caffeine.”

The words were flat, almost losing their meaning when they traveled to the air between Fundy and Schlatt. The room went silent after that. Tubbo hugged him a little tighter, his body still shaking with fear.

His first reaction was to disprove the fox. He did not drink that much coffee. He had drunk so much more when he was younger. That he could handle a lot of coffee and must have just passed out because he was tired.

And he would have if his tongue did not sit so heavily in his mouth. If the words did not put a crushing weight on his shoulders. If it did not feel like he failed all over again, because now people were worried about him.

The voice returned.

God a drink sounded so good at the moment.

“You went into shock.”

That was like a punch to the guts. That made Schlatt take in a sharp breath. He had seen people go into shock before. He had seen people not come back. He had seen the pale face, the slack jaw, he had felt the cold skin, the large pupils. He had seen that. And the only imagine in his mind was that of his own face, passed out on the floor of his office.  
And Tubbo. God his son had seen like that. The shivering boy clinging to him made so much heartbreaking sense.

“How much sleep have you been getting?” Quackity sounded so tired. Not physically existed, but emotionally. The one that weighed on the soul, aging it by decades. There was a stab of guilt because Schlatt knew he caused that.

“There had been a lot to do recently,” he said, almost quietly, the normal bravo gone. He felt so very exhausted as well. “And there has not been enough time to get it all done, and….”

“How much?”

He was really pushing his luck with them.

“....about two hours a night.”

The air got even thicker. All eyes were on him.

“Schlatt,” Fundy put his head in his hand, his ears leveling out on the sides of his head. “You’re going to wear yourself out. You’re….god you did. You almost died because of this! Do you know how close you were! Your organs could have given out at any point, and if we did not have the right equipment on hand, you….would have….”

There was a choking sob from Tubbo, rubbing his face deeper into Schlatt’s bare neck.

“Look, stay here, we are going to get you some food. We had Bad check on you while you were asleep. He wanted to see you again when you woke up, but after some rest and food. He…. needs to make sure that none of your organs are damaged. You...were in shock for a long time.”

“Fundy….”

“And don’t even try to make the excuse that there is a lot to do,” Quackity said, almost shouting at the president. Fear was so deep in his eyes, barely covered by anger. Schlatt could have sworn there were tears starting to collect at the corners of his eyes. “We can take care of it. You need to get better.”

Schlatt let his head fall a bit. He was worried about them. He did not want to overwhelm them. But he knew that they would actually kill him if he tried to do anything that was not resting, at least for a little while.

“Good,” Quackity took that as a good answer, before turning on his heels and started out of the room. “Come on Fundy. Let’s make some lunch.”

The door was mostly closed behind the two, and he was alone with his son, who still cling to him.

Schlatt wrapped his arms around Tubbo, putting a hand in his hair. It felt like so long since he had held his son. It had been a long time since he had been able to hold his son.

“Please,” the little ram hybrid whispered, desperate, pleading. Schaltt hated that tone on Tubbo’s tongue. “Never do that again. Please, please you have to promise me that you are never going to do that again. I can’t lose you. You’re the only dad that I have. And I can’t lose you. I don’t want to be alone.”

Schlatt’s heart broke more than he thought it could. He really fucked up this time.

Shooting more under the blankets, Schlatt pulled Tubbo to his chest, snuggling the boy under his chin, and wrapped him up in his arms, placing a kiss on his head.

“I’m sorry. I’m not going anywhere. I’m so, so sorry. I’ll never do that again.”

Minutes passed as Schlatt whispered quiet reassurances to his son. His eyes started to slide close. The warmth and comfort of being close to the one person he would give his life for lulling him back to sleep. He let himself. He knew the lecture he would get from Fundy, Quackity, and Tubbo if he tried to keep himself awake, and it was just not worth it at this point.

He was almost asleep, delusional from the darkness, losing feeling in the world. So he if he did not feel the Tubbo’s chest vibrate when he talked, he would have thought he imagined the words.

“I love you, dad.”

Schlatt kissed his head.

“I love you too Tubs.”

**Author's Note:**

> Second part of this series! I actually really like this one, and it was pretty fun to write. There should be about one more part of the President Schlatt series, but it might take a while to come out. So enjoy the disaster presidential cabinet.
> 
> Neither Quackity and Fundy are getting paid enough for dealing with this, but we still appreciate them for taking care of the absolute disaster that Schlatt is.


End file.
